


Bring me Back

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Stuck with Me (Sometimes Quite Literally) [8]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Allusions to past child abuse, Alternate Universe - X-Files Fusion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Missing Scene, References to Drugs, Repressed Memories, agent marco bodt is unhappy and in a bad place: the fic, man shit was fucked, or basically..., several scenes throughout the second to finale of season four (demons), untrustworthy memories is the best option here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes up in a motel room he's never seen before with blood on his shirt and the only thing he can recall are flashes of a dream unlike anything he's ever had before. He has Kirschtein on the phone before he even sits up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring me Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Achrya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/gifts).



> god bless you acharya. for... so many things.
> 
> OKAY HEY. it's been what? three months? shit man. and the first thing we all come back to is this shit? fun
> 
> alright so here's the thing. this takes on a slightly differing format because it isn't just one big scene. it's mulitple over the course of [this episode](http://putlocker.is/watch-the-x-files-tvshow-season-4-episode-23-online-free-putlocker.html) (which is kinda... not okay? fuck.) each scene starts at these numbers:  
> 01:00 // also part of a scene at 03:18  
> scene continues from that // another scene part at 11:27  
> 14:40  
> 25:45  
> 31:57  
> continues straight from that but you can skip to 32:48  
> technically everything it references would be starting at 40:12, but to get to the part of the fic is the end bit at 42:50 i guess
> 
> now this is also our first jump into season 4 - right at the end. before we move onto season 5, i promise we'll work backwards. do those scenes I haven't finished yet but plan to before i even watch season 5. i promise there's more than just a few things.
> 
> [music](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=a6Y1AE_c8KM#Catatonia_-_Mulder_%26_Scully_\(HQ_with_lyrics\)). i actually listened to a lot of different shit but i like this song (lmao i wonder why just look at the title) and I'm listening to it as I type this so....
> 
> oh! uh. please understand that this is not entirely like the other fics? it's our first mention of plot (as the order I wrote these anyway, who knows what will be the first mention in the future) so it's definitely not happy and it's not clear. formatting lowkey makes it unreliable. just a head's up.
> 
> and i... heavily imply things to do with the episode. a lot of it could be guessed at or what not but if things don't make sense, you can watch the episode or go straight to my tumblr (at the bottom) and message me. I'll explain the best to my knowledge. 
> 
> sorry that was so winded

                There are so many reasons he could have picked from, but when he thinks the question to himself, _why him? Why him before the police or anyone else?_ it isn’t any of those. Instead, the answer is only simply: Kirschtein was the first on his mind to even think of talking to.

 

                All his other options bleed in after the phone call, like the hazy memories given to him just minutes before when he awoke, of times years ago, of things he doesn’t remember as his own, but should.

 

                So he calls up Kirschtein, like he’d be the one to know why the hell he isn’t passed out on his ratty couch but some motel floor. He keeps his voice steady, more even than the rough pitter patter of his heart when he says, “I don’t think it’s mine,” when Kirschtein’s first thought, always rational about pain and wounds, is to ask him where he’s bleeding, where it hurts. He blinks at the unfamiliar walling when Kirschtein takes in a deep breath, and bites back the urge to murmur that he’s okay because he doesn’t know that just yet.

 

                He leaves the door open behind him, not even bothering to close it when he slips into the shower. There’s a pounding in his head that he thinks could be still be from whatever happened last night, but the call of his name tells him it’s just Kirschtein here, finally, knocking at the door. Through his shivers, he can’t bring up the energy to answer it, but apparently it’s unlocked, because Kirschtein’s voice is closer, not as muffled, when he calls after him again.

 

                Kirschtein is in the bathroom with him by the time he can choke back a _here_ to let him know. The door clicks closed behind him as he crouches beside the bathtub, form wavy and twisted through the plastic shower curtain. He watches as Kirschtein reaches up like he’s going to pull the curtain back, but thinks better of it and drops his hand, asking, “How are you feeling?”

 

                _Like I’m in shock_ , he almost wants to say, just to be dramatic, but sticks instead with just, “Cold. Really… cold.”

 

                There’s a sigh as a warning, if it could be really justified as much, before Kirschtein jerks aside the curtain to reveal him, curled up as close he can get himself, under what should be scalding water. His gaze shakes as it watches Kirschtein take in his pinking skin among the steam that clouds and swirls around him, dissipating into the cold air of the rest of the room. “God, you’re in _shock_ ,” he mutters under his breath, more like he’s talking to himself than Marco, and Marco snorts some of the water that had gotten up his nose out from inside it. His voice is soft, still firm, but not as much as it could be, when he tacks on, “One second while I get you a blanket to heat you up. Dry off,” as he shuts off the water and hands him a towel.

 

                Marco recognizes that tone; it’s his doctor voice. The surprise at the realization is enough to move him into doing more than just burying his face in the scratchy material of the old towel.

 

* * *

 

 

                He’s not quite sure how to take Kirschtein’s nursing when it happens. Before, he had always been kind of out of it, almost dead or drunk on painkillers, but now, he’s mostly just cold. And numb. Somehow both.

 

                But Kirschtein just keeps touching him. Just keeps putting his hands all over Marco, sticking close to him – more than usual, that is. Such as: instead of just handing him the blanket, he pushed Marco down onto the edge of the bed and wrapped it around him, smoothing it around his neck so that it was only his head popping out, to talk. Then, he pulled up the desk chair to sit right in front of him, eyes constantly flitting all over him, as if he’d spot any extra injuries through the blanket as they talked.

 

                While they check out of the motel, Kirschtein doing all of the talking for once, he keeps in physical contact with Marco pretty much the whole time. Just little things like keeping his hand on Marco’s arm or back, fixing a stray hair, or sliding his foot closer to tap against Marco’s own. It should be over the top, too much, but it’s strangely comforting, especially after his head stopped buzzing as much and he could feel the heat of Kirschtein’s touches instead of just the pressure of them.

 

                When he looks up from the ground, Kirschtein’s worried face hovering over him, short fingernails in his scalp and brushing his hair back from into place from his fall, it’s probably the safest he’s felt in a while – like nothing can touch him, like Kirschtein won’t let anything touch him – even if his heart is racing and the memories falling into place are too bright and loud to make sense of.

 

* * *

 

 

                He knows Kirschtein isn’t happy that he talked to the officer. He knows that Kirschtein just thinks it’s going to get him thrown in prison for something he didn’t do, but neither of them know that yet. They don’t know for sure that the bullets from his gun weren’t fired by him, or that the blood – the stuff that isn’t his – on his old shirt isn’t his fault. And this is the only way to find that out.

 

                Even if the officer is staring at him like he’s planning on taking the roads with the most potholes just so Marco smacks his head into the fencing between the front and back seats. Even if he had scowled when Kirschtein told him that they were the feds, and even harder when Marco confirmed that he wasn’t remembering anything.

 

                This is what he has to do.

 

                And judging from the way Kirschtein only sighs at him, keeps his mouth shut, but his burning eyes trained on Marco with all the things he wants to say as he stands in front of him and straightens his jacket – it would seem that Kirschtein knows this too.

 

* * *

 

 

                He wakes up, sweating, back aching, and staring at a metal ceiling. It takes a second for his mind to make the jump from the dreams to where he’s at now, but when it does, he isn’t sure which place he’d rather be. Prison for crime that hasn’t been proven either way, or in the nightmares of a time full of cancer sticks and a girl whose eyes are full of fear when she whispers his name. Both of them are without Kirschtein and –

 

                He remembers, in a jolt, everything that’s happening, and all this news he has to share, and immediately he’s on his feet and shouting. He doesn’t stop for hours, but when Kirschtein finally does show up, his voice is hoarse and his partner looks like he slept just as poorly.

 

                It’s Marco who reaches out to touch first.

 

* * *

 

 

                Kirschtein is stubborn, and usually that’s great; Marco loves to see him bicker with the people they’re questioning when it’s obvious that they’re not telling the truth. Right now, however, it’s not what Marco needs.

 

                “Let me see my keys,” he grunts, holding out his hand instead of rolling his eyes at the _you’re a danger to yourself, you imbecile, let me take care of you_ mood Kirschtein is still stuck in. He’s fine now and not in shock. The most that happens is just the memory flashes and headaches, but now one’s coming on more from arguing than from the pain of forced memories.

 

                Kirschtein squints at him like he’s stupid and Marco sniffs back. “Hell no. You’re not in any condition to drive. What do you think would happen if you got back some memories while on the road, huh? You’d drive smack dab into a tree and I’d have to carry this case around with your almost-dead-and-in-the-hospital weight on my ass.” He licks his lips. “It’s not as much fun as it sounds.”

 

                “It doesn’t even sound fun.” Marco mumbles, just to be contrary, because he doesn’t really have anything else to say to that.

 

                “Exactly.”

 

                They stare at each other for a few seconds longer, waiting to see who’s going to give in first, who’s going to sit down, say _fine_ , and let the other off. It’s usually a toss-up at times like these, because Kirschtein has a pushy personality, but Marco doesn’t allow himself just to be a doormat around him. It’s usually why they work so well together, Marco thinks. But then there are times like this, where they both have different opinions that are too strong to just let go, and they come to a standstill until they argue it out or one of them storms off.

 

                He’s glad they don’t have these often.

 

                Kirschtein takes a deep breath and then it’s, “Look, you can’t drive like this, okay? Not until these symptoms go away and you’re-”

 

                “But that’s the thing!” Marco shouts before he stops, understanding how loud he’s being. They don’t really need the attention a screaming match would bring them. He takes a deep breath as well, eyes closing as he does so. When he opens them, Kirschtein is staring at him, lips in a thin, pressed line that shows he’s more upset and concerned than angry and frustrated. That’s a good sign at least.

 

                “The thing is,” he says much quieter than before, staring at the ground instead of at him. “I _need_ these symptoms. I need the memories they’re bringing me. I keep – I keep seeing my sister.” He pauses, gives a huff, bites his lip. “I think I’m getting close to seeing _why_ -” he doesn’t need to explain this part, if the soft exhale Kirschtein gives is enough to go on. “-I just. Need to _know_.”

 

                He looks up after this blurt to see Kirschtein staring back at him. His eyebrow is furrowed, yes, but he’s _staring_ at Marco. His mouth falls open, pink lips separating just barely enough to tell Marco that he wants to say something, but it’s stuck in his throat. His tongue pokes out, flicks against his top lip before he shakes his head and looks down at the keys clenched in his hand, tone defeated, “Where are you going?”

 

                Marco doesn’t answer right away, only narrows his eyes, and watches Kirschtein fidget. That wasn’t what he had wanted to say, what he had planned on saying. It was clearly what he was going to get around to say at some point, sure, but definitely not the first thing that had popped into his head, or what had cause that _look_ on his face.

 

                “Bodt, come on. I’m not giving you the keys if you don’t tell me where you’re going.”

 

                He swipes a finger under his nose and tells him, “To my mother’s. I need to ask her a couple questions.”

 

                “Alright,” Kirschtein hums and spins the keys around on his finger. “I wasn’t planning on giving you the keys anyway-” Marco should really be annoyed, but all he can do is snort, glad that the tension from before is falling, dying. “But I’ll drive you there.” He stalks over to Marco’s car as if getting there before him will ensure that he gets to drive with no further arguments and Marco doesn’t even try to bite back his grin.

 

                In a surprising fit of _something_ , Marco finds himself calling after him, as he moves to get to the passenger side of the car, “I really love it when you take control like this.”

 

                “Shut up, Bodt,” Kirschtein grumbles as he yanks open the door, not even looking back.

 

                “I mean it!” Someone’s looking at them, Marco can feel it on the back of his neck, but it only makes his smile stretch a little wider on his mouth. “It really gets me hot when you-”

 

                Kirschtein slams his door shut before Marco can finish.

 

* * *

 

 

                It’s almost embarrassing, now that he thinks about it, talking to his mom in front of Kirschtein. It’s not the fact that it’s his _mother_ , but that fact that it’s _her_ , as a… person.

 

                He bites his tongue and asks to talk to his mother in the other room, avoids looking at Kirschtein and hopes that he doesn’t notice. That he doesn’t notice the way that Marco can’t look his mother in the eye, notice the way his head stays bowed, notice the way he feels small, like the house is too big again, like he’s a kid once more and she’s going to tell him off for being nosy as usual.

 

                Though, they’re only in the other room and by now he has to have noticed the way shouting voices carry through the thin walls Marco remembers so well. He has to notice what they’re saying, now that they’re loud enough to probably be heard even outside.

 

                _Smack!_

 

                Maybe he doesn’t notice the way the conversation lulled just for a second after the second – third? Fourth? Who counts anymore? – shout, but when his mother leaves the room, Marco bolts through the back, knowing that if anything, Kirschtein would notice the red handprint on his cheek.

 

                And, he thinks, pressing his teeth harshly into his tongue because he needs his hands to start the car and can’t use them to dig his fingernails into his palms, he doesn’t want Kirschtein touching him where he can still feel the sting of an angry mother.

 

* * *

 

 

                This, he is okay with. This, being Kirschtein with his hand between Marco’s shoulder blades and pressing. His hand is soothing, _grounding_ , as it rubs in circles, accompanied by the soft shushing each time he bubbles out an _I’m sorry_.

 

                He’s finally down from whatever it could be called where the memories flashes on the backs of his eyelids every time they shut, whatever it could be called where he threatened his partner, whatever it could be called where he had pressed a barrel to the underside of his chin, uncaring of whether Kirschtein was there or not. He’s finally down and he’s crashed, and all he can do with the energy he barely has is to press his forehead to the dusty floorboards and clean them with salty tears from panic and loss and regret.

 

                So much regret.

 

                At least the symptoms should be gone. Or soon. Either way, he should be rid of them before too long.

 

                He doesn’t want to see her face again. Not like this.

 

                _I’m sorry_.

 

                Kirschtein’s hand presses harder into his back.

**Author's Note:**

> at the moment, this is the longest xfiles au fic.
> 
> my tumblr is [HERE](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/), and acharya's is [here!](http://acharyadiako.tumblr.com/)! (but if you also like voltron, check out her [sideblog](http://achryathesecond.tumblr.com/))
> 
> [here is a link](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/post/149914604693/xfiles-au-is-back-and-so-is-marco-as-a-narrator) to where this can be reblogged/liked
> 
> kudos/comments are really great and i apologize for how dark this au is seriously getting


End file.
